The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8)

by Heather Boyd

  Her chin dropped and she turned her face away. “Then how do you describe it?”

  He frowned at the uncertainty her question suggested. He eased closer, making sure his breath would not strike her face when he spoke. “Hell.”

  Whitney laughed softly. “Was that before or after I took away your breeches?”

  “Definitely hell afterward.”

  “And before?”

  Her eyes grew wide, vulnerable, as she met his gaze, and he couldn’t summon up his former irritation over her hasty departure. Meeting Whitney had been unplanned and definitely a shock to his senses. “Some meetings defy description and are unforgettable,” he promised.

  He set his bare hand to the curve of her back and traced a circle on the damp material over her spine. Her breath hitched, and he drew back quickly, afraid of what that reaction might lead to next.

  Whitney fell silent as she wrung water from her skirts, flashing him a glimpse of her slender legs as she did so. He hadn’t seen very much of Whitney the night they’d met, but he wanted to now. Damn it all. He was supposed to have put this woman behind him by now, but nothing he tried had ever managed to purge Whitney from his imagination. Would he ever forget her?

  She straightened suddenly and offered her hand. “Friends?”

  He’d never had a female friend, only a sister. He wasn’t entirely sure he could be a friend to a woman like Whitney and not desire her, but he nodded and shook hands with her. He’d rather have Whitney as an ally than an enemy any day. “I’d like that.”

  “Why did she call you by your first name?” Whitney asked suddenly.

  “I’ve known Nancy and her husband since I was a boy.”

  Her brow rose. “Yes, but why does Nancy use your first name when her husband does not?”

  He laughed. “First girl I ever kissed,” he confessed.

  Whitney’s face lit up with amusement. “So you’ve always been drawn to red-haired women?”

  “Apparently,” he admitted with another laugh. “They tend to cause me trouble though.”

  “We are never boring,” she said, grinning widely.

  Nancy Blake returned, arms full of fabric, and Whitney cooed in pleasure. “Dry clothing.”

  Blake returned too, carrying a blanket.

  “Oh, this is so pretty,” Whitney gushed as she was presented with Nancy’s best blue gown to wear. She glanced at the Blakes and about the chamber. “Now, how are we to do this?”

  “Do what?” Everett asked.

  “Change my clothes. I’d rather not trudge water inside their home if I can avoid it. Besides, its warmer here by the forge than anywhere inside could ever be.”

  His mind blanked. Whitney naked in such a setting should not excite him. Even if it did.

  Everett swallowed hard. He grew hard, too.

  Blake handed him the edge of a blanket, still smirking, and keeping Whitney on the side nearest the fire. He and Blake turned away while the women chattered as Whitney stripped off her wet clothing and donned Nancy’s best dress.

  He peeked once or twice, catching a glimpse of pale skin and one luscious breast as she raised her arms high.

  “Oh, the material is so deliciously soft against my skin,” she said with glowing approval to Nancy. “Thank you so much for the loan of it. I’ll have it returned straight away.”

  “There’s no hurry,” Nancy promised. “I’ll next wear it on Everett’s wedding day.”

  Everett’s stomach dropped at the reminder that he had still to prove himself unworthy of Miss Quartermane’s hand in marriage. He had to do more than get drunk and fall into water troughs to make that happen, and as he was finally allowed to lower the blanket, he considered what else he might do to speed the end of his engagement.

  “Are you not changing?”

  “I will be fine as I am.”

  Although she appeared unconvinced, Whitney did not argue with him about becoming chilled again. She left her soiled gown with Mrs. Blake, acquiescing to Nancy’s desire to launder the garment for her. “I’ll return for that later in the week, shall I?”

  Nancy nodded, stroking her fingers over the fine garment possessively. “It will be ready.”

  When Whitney said her goodbyes, Everett followed her outside quickly. Perhaps Whitney might have some ideas on how to sabotage his engagement, but then he dismissed his thought immediately. He could not ask her, his newest friend, to help him with this. “I cannot go all the way, but I would like to walk you as far as the boundary fence.”

  “In case I stumble upon another bull in the field?”

  “There is another body of water you could fall into along the way.” He grinned and gestured to a narrow trail leading into the woods. “No point another gentleman getting himself drenched, should you catch another man’s attention. It’s much shorter to go this way than walking the long road.”

  Whitney agreed, and he led her onto a corner of his land that many of the locals and servants used to reach Twilit Hill from the village. As they passed into the woods, he heard the sounds of a well-sprung carriage traveling through the village behind him. A quick glance revealed the Quartermanes were finally returning to Warstone, and he was glad to have missed them.

  He pulled Whitney on when she would have stopped to wave at them, steadfastly turning his back on all he’d thought he’d once wanted.

  They stepped into the woods, and at once a sense of peace swept over his skin.

  Beside him, a soft gasp left Whitney’s lips as she looked around with wide eyes. “How beautiful and peaceful.”

  She was not afraid; she was enthralled by her surroundings.

  He caught her hand and tugged her along at his side.

  They didn’t have long to be friends. Just a few brief days and then she would be gone. “Tell me more about your trip.”

  “There’s not much more to say.”

  He frowned. “Will you be traveling with friends?”

  “Yes and no. I have engaged a married couple to travel with me. We meet in Dover next week but they come highly recommended. They have made the trip before as companions to an acquaintance of mine. They each know enough language to help ease my way though most countries.”

  “My sister always wished to travel, and if Miranda had not returned, we would have spent last summer traveling in foreign lands, you know.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that.”

  “Once Miranda came back, Taverham changed his mind about going, of course, not that I hold his decision against him.”

  “You must be so disappointed. How did your sister take the news?”

  “As badly as you can imagine anyone in love would.”

  She winced, but then wound her arm through his. “My cousin always promised that he’d travel with me, but when I saw how much in love with Iris he was, I knew he’d change his mind, too, and not join me.”

  “Love does strange things to people with plans, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed it does,” she agreed with a soft, sad sigh.

  He drew her a little closer, as close as he dared as they passed beneath two towering birch that leaned toward each other, forming an arch. “Here, look at this. There is a local legend that claims that when two unattached people pass through this arch, they will have love and prosperity forevermore. Many carve their initials in them.”

  Whitney slipped from his grip, glancing up quickly. “Did you bring Alice here?”

  He shook his head. “No, and I probably won’t. Alice dislikes the woods, and has no room in her heart for myths.”

  “She’s a practical woman.”

  “Unlike you,” he noted.

  “I’m practical,” she protested.

  “Practical isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I describe you.”

  Her eyes widened with what he suspected was fear. “How do you describe me, and to whom?”

  “To everyone I meet, I say you are an agreeable young woman with impeccable connections,” he promised. “But to myself,
I say Whitney Crewe is a woman of remarkable intellect, frighteningly impulsive, and as passionate as the wilderness surrounding my home.”

  He saw her gulp. Saw her dismiss his honest compliment as ridiculous flattery, and his heart melted a little more. He should never have been alone with her, but he could not regret that he was finally coming to understand the woman who’d seduced him was not confident in her appeal now. She was not a brazen flirt with everyone, but she had firmly caught his attention, as he had caught hers he suspected, and he wanted more of her than he could let her know.

  When he smiled at her, Whitney turned away. “We should go. Miranda will be wondering where I am,” she whispered, as she hurried ahead of him toward a fork in the path through the forest. There were many paths to take, and she could easily become lost without his help.

  “Then let us not disappoint the marchioness,” he said as he ran to catch up with her. He held out his hand, and she reluctantly placed hers in his again. He drew her down the proper path toward Twilit Hill, and not the one that circled back toward the village. “Now, tell me, where are you lodging before you depart on this ship of yours?” he asked, simply for the pleasure of hearing more of her upcoming adventure.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Painting a portrait took time and concentration—the latter of which Whitney had very little today. Her subjects were without fidgets, except for Christopher, who always seemed too full of energy no matter the time of day. His parents were happy together, although the marquess wore the occasional frown sometimes.

  Whitney was struggling to bring this family portrait to life and longed for an outside distraction or visitors to put an end to this torture for a little while. There was nothing wrong with the portrait but, for the moment, she couldn’t put her finger on what distracted her today.

  “Christopher,” Miranda murmured out the side of her mouth. “Don’t wave your foot about like that.”

  “Sorry,” he said quickly, and his eyes drifted toward the window again.

  Whitney had already decided that the boy should be painted looking off toward the window, because he never stopped looking for his friends. Lord Carrington had taken them all off for a long walk this morning while Whitney painted.

  She set her paintbrush down. “Perhaps we should take a break. Everyone may stand and move about.”

  Christopher shot off the chaise he’d been perched on and immediately headed for the French doors that looked over the rear of the property. Miranda followed, warning him not to go far.

  Despite the necessity of ending the session, Whitney was disappointed with herself. She had never been so distracted as she was this past week. Perhaps it was the change of location upsetting her focus, but whatever the cause, she had no choice but to return to her work shortly. She’d made a promise, to the family and to herself.

  She had to finish this one last painting before she could leave for the continent.

  She had promised to meet her traveling companions on a certain day, which would allow them to meet their ship with a day to spare.

  She could not understand why she wasn’t in the mood to paint. She always painted. In London, there had been a steady stream of new bodies and views to capture. Even in the never-changing countryside around her cousin’s estate, Whitney had painted every single day.

  She was almost as distracted as Christopher. Her mind far away, beleaguered by images of a man she shouldn’t think about.

  The marquess approached Whitney. “You’re frowning. Is something the matter?”

  She did not want to answer that. “So were you.”

  He grunted. “It’s nothing. Did I hear that you returned yesterday wearing the blacksmith’s wife’s gown?”

  “I had an accident with a puddle of water.”

  His brows rose in surprise but he did not laugh. “And that required you to change clothes?”

  “I fell in a horse trough,” Whitney confessed, believing confession now was better than trying to hide the truth from him. The details of the encounter with Acton would eventually reach his ears.

  The marquess appeared shocked, though. “How did that happen?”

  Ah, so he didn’t know that Acton had caused it. Not yet, anyway. “An accident. Nothing to worry about. Why are you in a bad mood?”

  “As I said, it’s nothing of importance.”

  She did not believe that. “You have been looking toward the windows all morning.”

  “So have you,” he countered.

  Whitney turned away as a blush climbed her cheeks. She hastily cleaned her brushes. She’d not realized she’d been looking out the windows, too, but she knew what she’d been searching for outside.

  Acton still had not put in an appearance. She had not thought the marquess would banish his oldest friend forever because he’d shown compassion to someone who didn’t deserve any.

  When Whitney had a problem, she always faced it head-on, head high, and without regret. Today would be no different. She was concerned that this estrangement could go on too long if she didn’t speak up. “Why has Lord Acton not called with Miss Quartermane these past few days?”

  The marquess’ jaw firmed. “I’ve no idea.”

  Even now, he would not admit that he had banished the earl. “You and I are only children.”

  The marquess frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Whitney smiled sadly. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a brother or sister to be responsible for? I wanted a family quite desperately when I was young.”

  Taverham’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t.”

  “You had the advantage of having neighbors, Acton and his sister Emily, to play with, I hear. After my parents died, I lived with my aunts and uncles until their deaths. None of them had children, so it was an adjustment for all of us.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “Everyone says that, but I consider myself very lucky,” she mused. “Each one of them were different situations. Some of my family were easy to get along with, others more difficult. Aunt Thomasina never let me out of her sight. She smothered me, nearly kept me her prisoner because she was afraid I’d be seduced and ruined, or taken away from her. She lived in fear of everything, I later learned.”

  “That must have been difficult for you,” he said, wincing in sympathy.

  “When Aunt Thomasina died, I moved to Uncle Nash’s home, and there I had a chance to make some friends.” Whitney smiled broadly. “Uncle Nash had a very active social life, and he was very handsome and well informed. But he often secretly entertained female acquaintances after I’d retired for the night. Some of them were married, I’m ashamed to say, and from influential families. He made his living being agreeable, and I loved him regardless. Even though he never intended to, he broadened my knowledge of romantic entanglements and love, quite a bit, let me tell you.”

  Taverham frowned. “What are you getting at, Trouble?”

  “What I am trying to say is that I don’t imagine it is easy to turn aside a sibling in need when they are the only family you have left. They will always be a member of your family, even when they are evil to the bone.”

  Taverham sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re talking about that woman?”

  “No. I am talking about your friend.”

  The marquess turned away. “You don’t know what he’s done.”

  “Actually, I do,” she confessed quietly. “I discovered the lady’s whereabouts quite by accident, and I spoke to her to be certain it was her.”

  The marquess stared. “Do not go near her again.”

  “That is almost exactly what Acton said, too, but with much more panic and concern in his voice than yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you not see that he is terrified?” Whitney shuddered. “Consumption is a horrible way to die.”

  “You’ve seen it before?”

  She nodded. “My parents.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  �
��I am, too. I knew they would die, everyone said so. Aunt Thomasina came and tried to take me away from them for my own protection. I ran away from her, of course. I walked three miles in the dark, just so I could nurse my parents in the last days of their lives because I loved them.”

  Taverham lowered his face.

  “What he’s done is understandable. Reasonable. She’s all he has left. He’s taken all the precautions he can to protect everyone.”

  “What precautions?”

  “Emily is locked behind a wall. There is a servant with a pitchfork patrolling the grounds to keep the unwary at a safe distance. No one goes in without his permission. Acton seems to wear gloves at all times, he says he bathes after every visit, never wears the same clothes around other people after he’s seen her. He acts with more caution than I ever did.”

  “How do you know so much about him?”

  “Artists pay attention to people around them.” She laughed softly. “Also, I bullied it out of him, and he couldn’t resist me.”

  Taverham chuckled, too. “That would be a first. He’s usually much more inscrutable.”

  “You underestimate my skills at uncovering secrets.” She licked her lips, thinking of the man again. “He probably didn’t want to tell you because he imagined you couldn’t possibly care what became of her after all she’s done. I can understand your anger with her may never end, but why punish him for something he cannot change? Will you truly turn away from a lifelong friend in his time of need?”

  “You don’t understand.” He checked the room. Miranda and Christopher were on the far side of the room still. “Christopher barely trusts Acton as it is. I don’t want to make things worse between them. And there is Miranda’s health to consider. I cannot lose them.”

  “Then explain the reasons you sent him away, but please clear the air so he knows you don’t hate him. It doesn’t even have to be in words. Invite him riding or ask his opinion. You told him to leave and he went…and hasn’t returned, has he? Did you mean forever?”

  Taverham’s eyes widened. “No, of course not.”

  “But he’s done exactly as you asked and expects nothing more.” She had an idea. “If you are so worried about the risk to Miranda and Christopher, invite Acton to luncheon in the open gardens, where there can be no danger to anyone else.”